Devon woke slowly, a heavy disorientation clouding his mind. He didn't just feel tired; he felt empty, as if all his organs had been replaced with lead. The exhaustion from the Void Field was a physical weight, pressing him into the cold dirt. Every muscle fiber protested, locking him in a rigid, agonizing stiffness.
He lay there for several minutes, focusing only on drawing breath, struggling to reclaim control of his own body. He finally managed to push himself onto an elbow, his arm shaking violently from the minimal effort. He paused, gasping, before forcing himself to sit upright, his whole frame wobbly and unbalanced. The silent camp spun around him before slowly settling.
The first thing he saw were the captives. The three Beastkin were still chained to the tree, huddled together near the cold embers of the fire pit. They were staring at him with a profound fear, their eyes wide and reflecting the faint moonlight.
Devon raised a trembling hand, trying to offer a gesture of peace. "It's over," he rasped, his throat dry. "I'm not going to hurt you. The men are gone."
His words did little to reassure them. The two Canids shifted instantly, their thick fur bristling as they let out low, guttural growls. A clear warning. The Cervid remained perfectly still, her wide, dark eyes fixed on him, silent and terrified.
After several minutes of struggling against the overwhelming fatigue, Devon finally managed to get his wobbly legs beneath him. He stood up, swaying slightly, and took his first slow, agonizing steps toward the wreckage.
He walked past the mangled, shapeless corpse of the swordsman, not allowing himself to look too closely at the horrific result of the Void Field. He moved toward the ruined tent near the fire pit.
He peered under the remains of the shredded tent. Inside was the mage's corpse, the sight of his cleanly opened midsection and spilling organs was far more visceral than the crushed horror of the swordsman. He had seen violence on the streets, but never anything so gruesome, and never had he been the direct cause of it.
A sudden wave of nausea hit him. His stomach rebelled, and he doubled over, gagging on the metallic smell of blood coming from inside the tent. A wave of dizziness almost pulled him back into unconsciousness.
He immediately backed away, stumbling a few steps before his wobbly legs gave out. He collapsed onto the ground near the fire pit. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take slow, deliberate breaths, trying to purge the sickening image and the metallic tang of blood from his senses.
When he finally opened his eyes, the Beastkin were still watching him.
He pushed himself to a sitting position. "I won't hurt you," Devon said, his voice steadier this time. "I heard what those men were planning to do. I heard them talking about selling you, about the Cervid. I had to stop them."
"Do you know where the key is?" he asked, pointing toward the wreckage of the tent and the scattered gear. "The key to your chains. If you know where it is, I can get you free."
The Cervid finally broke her silence. Her voice was thin, barely a whisper, as if she hadn't used it in days.
"Th-the mage had it," she said, her large eyes fixed on the bloody tent. "Somewhere on him."
Devon whispered "fuck."
He did not want to look into the tent, let alone search it. It was a mess of blood and guts, illuminated poorly by the moonlight. The thought of touching the mage's corpse was repulsive. After a few minutes, he managed to steel his will and began the search.
He crawled slowly on his hands and knees, ignoring the protesting screams of his exhausted body. He forced his eyes to focus on the dark shapes, not the slick redness all around him. He found the mage's dark staff tangled in the canvas and quickly pushed it aside. He found a few other small items. a discarded canteen, a pouch of dried rations, but the iron key remained hidden.
He wretched a few times, the horrible scent of blood and viscera overwhelming him. He had to pause, head bowed, waiting for the nausea to pass before forcing himself back into the gore. Finally, his hand brushed against something cold and hard beneath a fold of canvas near the mage's waist. He grabbed it. It was a heavy iron key.
He forced himself to his feet. He moved away from the gore-soaked tent and toward the swordsman's corpse. With a grunt of effort, he dragged the sword free from the tangle of the mangled body and grasped the hilt.
The three Beastkin watching from the tree tensed as one. The slow movement of the Human retrieving the weapon made their worst fears resurface.
Devon noticed their renewed terror. He walked slowly toward them, keeping the sword loosely aimed at the ground. When he was just out of the reach of their chains, he stopped and tossed the heavy iron key onto the dirt between the trio.
"Free yourselves," Devon instructed, his voice low and firm. "But know this: if you attack, I won't hold back."
The nearest Canid slowly stretched its body, reaching for the key with a paw. Its yellow eyes never left Devon, clearly waiting for him to strike while it was distracted. When Devon remained still, the Canid snatched the key quickly. It immediately unlocked its own collar and chains and, with frantic speed, freed its companion.
The moment the second Canid's chains were off, both Canids bolted, disappearing into the shadows of the forest, their survival instinct overriding any caution or gratitude.
Devon was left standing, leaning on the heavy sword, watching the space where they vanished.
The Cervid remained. She stood shivering, still tethered to the chain connecting her collar to the tree.
He bent down, retrieving the key from the ground where the Canid had dropped it. He walked the few feet to the remaining Beastkin, stopping just short of her. He held the key out, offering it to her.
The Cervid's gaze lifted from the key to Devon's face. Her large, dark eyes studied him. With agonizing slowness, she reached out and took the key from his hand. She worked the lock on her collar, the mechanism grating harshly in the quiet night. After removing the collar, she freed herself from the chains around her wrists which fell away with a clink.
She was free. Yet, she stayed perfectly still.
Devon turned slowly and walked to the opposite side of the small camp, putting distance between himself and the scene of the carnage. He walked until he reached a tree. He slid down the trunk, sinking onto the soft earth. He set the heavy sword beside him as his eyes drifted shut, exhaustion almost overwhelming him.
After a long moment of silence, the Cervid finally spoke, her voice thin and barely a whisper.
"Why did you free us?" she asked.
After a few seconds, Devon opened his eyes, staring at the dark outline of the forest canopy above.
"I heard them talking," Devon said, his voice barely above a whisper "I heard what they planned to do with you. Selling you and then talking about taking a 'test sample.' I couldn't just leave you with them.."
He paused, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "I spent most of my life on the streets. Nobody ever helped me. I know what indifference looks like. I know what it feels like to be property. I couldn't live with myself if I walked away."
He moved his head slightly, meeting her gaze across the dark camp. "The others ran. Why are you still here?"
After a moment, she replied, her voice filled with despair. "I have nowhere to go. My family was taken from our village months ago. I managed to hide and escape but was caught and taken prisoner after a few days." She broke down then, the dam of her terror and misery bursting. She fell to the ground sobbing, her small body shaking violently.
After a few minutes, the sobbing subsided into ragged breaths. "I'll die if I try and survive the road or forest alone. I'll be recaptured and sold again if I go back." she whispered.
She paused, then pushed herself up, her tear-streaked face finding a sliver of resolve. "I know where they kept the bandages, you'll need them for your arm."
Devon's eyes drifted to his left forearm. He had completely forgotten about the wound he received from the swordsman. It was still bleeding freely, soaking the torn fabric of his sleeve, though the flow had slowed enough that it didn't seem immediately life-threatening.
"Thank you, I would appreciate that." he said quietly.
She didn't hesitate, moving to the tent and reaching inside, grabbing a canvas satchel near where the mage was laying. She pulled out a small, leather-bound pouch and walked over to him, although keeping a healthy distance between them.
She tossed the pouch gently toward Devon. It landed short, rolling a few inches from his outstretched hand.
Devon stared at the pouch. He would need to cut away the blood-soaked fabric of his sleeve, clean the wound, and wrap it tightly. He knew exactly what to do, but he was too exhausted. His arm felt like dead weight, and his mind couldn't muster the focus needed for even such a simple task.
He glanced at his left forearm. It was still dripping blood. He looked at the pouch, then back at his useless arm, unsure of what to do next.
The Cervid saw the struggle, the exhaustion in his eyes. She moved, coming to kneel near him, keeping her distance but close enough to reach the pouch.
"I can do it," she whispered. "I know how the bandages work. I've watched them patch up the guards."
Devon looked at her, the terrified captive he had risked everything for, now offering him aid. He closed his eyes and nodded.
The Cervid moved to Devon's side, opening the leather pouch. She retrieved a small knife from inside and cut away the blood-soaked remnants of his sleeve.
She then uncorked the vial of thick, dark liquid. She saturated a piece of the linen bandage and pressed the cloth firmly onto the open wound. Devon hissed through his teeth as the powerful herbal liquid burned into the flesh, but he remained still, trusting her. She worked quickly, applying another layer of the liquid before expertly winding the long strip of clean bandage around his arm, tying it off tightly to apply pressure.
The task done, she immediately backed away several feet.
Devon opened his eyes, staring at his freshly patched arm. The bleeding had stopped, and the pressure from the bandage was a reassuring pain. He glanced at the Cervid, nodding a silent thanks.
With his wounded arm taken care of, exhaustion took him His eyes closed and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.